


Sleeping in

by sharko



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharko/pseuds/sharko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up is overrated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping in

It’s a Sunday, and Jackie is having trouble with Ginjo. She _always_ has trouble with Ginjo.

She tries, fruitlessly, to wake him up for about fifteen minutes before she gives up and stands motionless by his bed, arms crossed and a vexed expression on her face. He’s lying on his side; his arm shifts and slides behind him before the rest of him follows, slowly, so he can take one look at her. His eyes are squinted and it makes his nose curl a little, just by the sides, and it would be somewhat endearing if he weren’t such an idiot.  
  
"Don’t be mean to dad, mom," he sighs, almost wistfully (it’s arrogant, at least) and turns back away from her. She doesn’t care enough to reprimand him but she sits down on the edge of his mattress and resists the urge to shake her head.  
  
"Where did you even get that?" It takes him a while to answer her question, because he is almost entirely preoccupied with dozing off but he eventually makes a noise of askance. She twists her upper half around a little to look at him when he asks her.  
  
"Get what?"  
  
It makes her scoff because she knows _he_ knows what she’s talking about.  
  
"The mom thing," she gives in as she usually does, she can’t _not_ give in because he holds some sort of weird power of immaturity that makes her dote on him as she dotes on the others, subtly. He grins, and he’s moved his arm over his face now but she can see a hint of his teeth, and he relents after a few blinks of silence, peeking at her from under his forearm.  
  
"I thought you liked the mom thing."  
  
"I don’t mind it," she admits, hesitantly, and he grins _more_ , and her nose scrunches up fretfully. “But don’t wear it out.”  
  
Ginjo’s face looks kind of alarmingly charming for a moment. She calls him an idiot in her thoughts, but he’s obviously oblivious as he simpers. “I won’t.”  
  
She opens her mouth to prove him wrong but her mind doesn’t register the next seconds when he reaches out with both arms and manages to pull her in— she’s wearing shoes but it doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest, and when she lays still, reluctantly because it’s already 10:00 AM and he was supposed to be up an hour ago, he laughs. It’s a dry, warm sound, and she decides she likes it. The comfort of the situation, however, does not deter her from elbowing him in the gut, but he pulls her closer instead of complaining. The motion brings a different kind of significance to the situation and she feels a little less urgent— everyone else is barely up anyway.  
  
It’s always been a casual sort of thing. Ginjo is a casual sort of guy, and though Jackie can’t exactly find any fault in it, it never sits too well with her when he fails to acknowledge that maybe it isn’t completely normal for a grown man to pull a grown woman into his bed so they can have a lazy, half-coherent conversation before one, or both of them, falls asleep.  
  
She can’t even remember how the _mom_ thing came to be— it just _happened_ , and now it won’t _un_ happen. It would probably cause her less concern if it weren’t only Ginjo who called her that, but she’s always been Jackie, just Jackie, to the group, and the change, like Ginjo, has swept her off her feet more than a few times. It’s not entirely bad. It’s appealing at worst, and she’s satisfied that he won’t stop talking, mumbling, with his face stuck in her hair, and for a moment she forgives him for every small, petty inconvenience.  
  
"I," she falters at her own guilt. They’re both in bed. "We should get up."  
  
She can feel him shrug and he makes a noncommittal noise, and he rests his head against hers, and her resolve weakens and slinks away shamefully when he adjusts the covers so they fall on her as well. It’s warm.  
  
It’s only 10:00 AM, she thinks to herself. It’s okay, at least for a little while.


End file.
